


hit my peak at seven

by caandlelit



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Arguing, Banter, Comedy, Getting Together, House Party, Humor, Kissing, M/M, Seven Minutes In Heaven Game, Sexual Tension, Tenderness, Underage Drinking, background desi issei, bc 20 is the age in japan i think and theyre all like.18, v background iwaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:54:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28577841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caandlelit/pseuds/caandlelit
Summary: '-what're the chances. Like hell it'll land on-'Takahiro stops talking abruptly and stares at the bottle, pointing at him.(seven minutes in heaven)
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei
Comments: 40
Kudos: 231





	hit my peak at seven

**Author's Note:**

> like 6 hours bc i reealized there r no 7 mins in heaven fics . wtf . crime ..  
> title from seven by taylor swift

'And it's- Matsun's turn!' Oikawa cheers, and so does the group, and Takahiro waggles his eyebrows at Issei. 

Issei purses his lips but even with space between them, Takahiro sees the faintest hint of his dimple and he beams, because it's enough.

Issei shakes his head at him, still poker-faced as he sighs, resigned, and spins the bottle. 

Their small group of third years wait with bated breath to see where it'll land.

That accursed, imported brand sports drink bottle, _because of course that's the first bottle they'd found in the kitchen of whoever's house this is, welcome to Seijou,_ has already forced five drunken pairs including Yuda and Iwaizumi to go inside the closet, as well as Oikawa and a cute tall girl Takahiro can't recall the name of, though he's sure he's spoken to her before. 

Oikawa had come outside beaming and laughing with her and while it seemed like they hadn't really done anything, Iwaizumi's face had still been both terrifying and pitiful.

Issei had mouthed, 'That'll take a decade, at least,' when they'd exchanged a look at the drama, and Takahiro had mouthed back, 'Bet.' 

Now he watches the stupid blue sports bottle spin and feels a childish burst of jealousy, already mentally crossing off who Issei would kiss and who he wouldn't, wishing to be in their place. 

Right now he's fairly certain Takahiro himself and the punk guy from the basketball team are the only ones he'd actually consider making out with, so he's been beating him up in his head for ten seconds.

He glances at Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi just gives him an even, pitiless look and Takahiro gives him the finger. 

No sympathy? Really? Shouldn't all in-love-with-my-bestie types should stick together?

Then he remembers that he laughed at Iwaizumi when he first told him about his crush and feels a bit less bitter and little more _ah. Deserved, then._

It doesn't distract him from the jealousy though. He decides that he hates jealousy, he's unused to it and it gets him worked up and he really wishes it didn't exist.

He looks around at the group, fellow seniors he's known and joked with over the years. Takahiro finds that it's suddenly very easy to completely hate them all.

Maybe it's the alcohol talking but Takahiro feels the absurd desire to lean forward and stop the bottle and twist it to point towards him. 

Maybe it's just the giant, obnoxious crush he has on Issei. 

He blames Issei entirely. With his good looks and fucking eyes and terrible jokes, Takahiro would've been over this within a day if Issei wasn't so _built_ for him. 

Is it socially acceptable to pick up the bottle and throw it out of the window and sit yourself in your best friend's lap before someone else can steal your place? Issei's legs are comfortable, so it should be.

And, he muses, watching him, judging by the way his gaze flits up and lingers on Takahiro as he waits for the bottle to stop spinning, he might not be completely against it.

_Huh._ Self indulgence, or actual fact, he wonders. 

Yuda nudges him, brings him out of his fantasies. 'This one's yours, Hanamaki,' he teases, cheeks bright pink and words slurring. Takahiro blinks, then laughs.

'Yeah, okay, sure Yukkun, what're the chances. Like hell it'll land on-'

Takahiro stops talking abruptly and stares at the bottle, pointing at him. 

Then he looks up, past the hollars and cheers that rise through the group and locks eyes with Issei, and feels his heartbeat quicken.

Issei's eyes are glinting under the dim lights, mouth parted.

Takahiro watches irritatedly as his tongue flits out to wet his lips, slow and deliberate, pink and shiny under the shifting RGB lights of whichever douchebag's party this is.

That was so obviously intentional, he thinks.

Takahiro ignores the heat swirling in his belly and very pointedly does not flush. He fakes a groan instead, tipping his head back.

'Betrayal! Yuda, you jinxed me, asshole, I don't want to go in there with him, what the fuck?' he complains. Next to him, Iwaizumi mutters something Takahiro doesn't catch and shakes his head. 

A tad too dramatic then, he admits, but he figures it can be blamed on the alcohol. 

Takahiro ignores Iwaizumi's judgement and blinks slowly at Issei, who's eyes fly back up to his face from his neck after he tilts his face back down.

Takahiro lets his eyes go as heavy lidded as they can.

Issei's eyes flash, a mix of amused and heated that Takahiro wants to see again very badly, before they're blank again, and he rolls his eyes back and says, 'This is just dumb, it'll be such a waste of time.'

Takahiro makes the most bored expression he has in his extensive collection, makes an annoyed noise and gets to his feet and walks across the messy circle of giggling people. 

He hears Yamada from tennis whisper, 'A hundred yen they come out with hickeys.'

The girl's football vice next to him, her name might be Himara, replies, 'Are you kidding? Three hundred they fuck in there,' and Takahiro almost turns around to shout about the blatant disrespect towards his stamina. It's seven minutes, for Christ's sake.

But his eyes don't waver from Issei's, dark and smug as he watches him come closer. 

Look at him. So self satisfied as if he did something more than just spin a bottle. 

_Is it really such an accomplishment to get to kiss me,_ he thinks, lets himself dream.

That aside, Takahiro really likes being the center of his attention. 

He stands in front of him and politely extends his hand to Issei.

'This is the shittiest matchup ever, I can't believe you guys are making us do this.'

Issei clasps his hand and Takahiro pulls him up as he responds through the faint laughter in the back, 'Absolute worst day of my life.'

The last half is lower, murmured right against Takahiro's face as they stand, too close and still hand in hand.

His breath is warm and smells like the sweet drinks the football team captain was making in the kitchen when they arrived.

Takahiro lets a smirk lift his mouth up for a second, lets himself soak in the sight of Issei's dark eyes flitting down, subtle as a brick, before he pulls away completely to yank Issei outside the living room to the soundtrack of techno music from some wanna-be DJ and the whoops and laughter from their friends.

They bump past people, and Takahiro goes straight for the hallway with the closet. 

Oikawa follows them with the key, a put-on and exaggerated long-suffering look on his face.

Takahiro doesn't drop his hand, and feels Issei squeeze his fingers lightly.

His hand is warm and calloused and Takahiro bites back a smile and squeezes back.

Oikawa lets out a loud snort and Takahiro suppresses the urge to stick a spoon up his ass, and plasters a scowl on his face.

He needs to keep his record straight though, so as they approach the closet, he wonders if the scowl is enough or if he should say something else that conveys how anti this whole thing he is.

Issei gets to it before he can, muttering, 'Why the fuck do I have to do this.'

Takahiro scowls harder. 'I can agree with you there, I am heavily against this.' 

'I can't believe seven minutes of my life will be wasted,' Issei says dully.

'I really wish I didn't have to share the same air as you,' Takahiro replies wearily.

'Okay,' Oikawa says, looking bored out of his mind, which Takahiro thinks is a tad dramatic. 'That's enough, I think. Go inside, assholes, and,' he does finger quotes, ''Try not to kill each other.''

He shoves them inside, muttering under his breath and Issei's hand wraps around Takahiro's elbow, steadying him so he doesn't fall. 

'You could at least pretend-' Issei starts reproachfully, and Oikawa says, 'Oh please, save it,' as he slams the door.

The darkness swallows him and the lock has barely shut before Issei's grip on his elbow tightens and he's slamming him against the wall.

'So do you wanna fu-' is all Takahiro manages to get out before there's a mouth descending on him hungrily.

Takahiro's breathless laughter is swallowed up and he feels Issei's grin pressing into his lips for a split second before he's kissing him hard, hand sliding down to ruck up his shirt and the other cupping his nape.

Takahiro fists his hair and pulls him in closer, cupping his jaw and licking into his mouth. 

The sound and the feel of Issei's low moan vibrates through his whole body, makes goosebumps rise all over his skin and he blinks his eyes open to take in the half-illuminated flush on his cheeks, his mussed up hair and his shoulders and arms caging Takahiro against the wall. 

Issei pulls back for a second and watches his face, and Takahiro tilts his head up to laugh softly into his ear. Issei's hands slide to his hips and squeeze, a warning or just wanting to touch, and Takahiro kisses him.

His mouth is like a _drug_ , Takahiro thinks dazedly.

His hands slide up and squeeze Takahiro's waist as he kisses back, fingers digging into Takahiro's flesh and making him heat up, making him want it worse.

'Snatched,' Issei mutters as he cups his waist tighter, and Takahiro huffs at his terrible sense of humor.

He drags a hand down from his hair, nails raking through his curls and the shaved hairs of his undercut and down his nape and back and feels him shiver into the kiss, feels impossibly smug before Issei's mouth pops slickly off of his and moves to press under his jaw.

Takahiro's breath vanishes on a whine as Issei sucks a mark into his skin, his thumbs drawing slow, uneven circles at his hips and dipping under his jeans.

_'Issei,_ fuck, please-'

His sharp grin presses against Takahiro's skin and he whines, kicks his shin and his mouth goes back to biting and sucking and Takahiro is _gone._

_'Yes,_ fucking- _ahh-'_

'God,' Issei mouths, 'the _sounds_ you make, Hiro…'

He swallows, and feels him press a kiss to his Adam's apple and shuts his eyes, tips his head back against the wall with a groan.

Issei pulls back, eyes glinting in the thin light from the cracks at the top and bottom of the closet door.

His hand goes up to Takahiro's throat and his thumb slowly brushes against a few marks he's left, and Takahiro surges forward to kiss him, cheeks burning.

Issei kisses back instantly and that, he thinks vaguely. That counts for something, doesn't it? 

He grinds his hips forward, slowly, experimentally. Issei's mouth goes slack for a second and his voice is low and ruined as he says, _'Hiro-_ fuck-' 

He practically melts into the kiss, tasting desperate and Takahiro is getting dizzy as his hands slide down his chest and sides slowly to cup at Takahiro's ass.

The sounds of their spit slick mouths and pants and gasps and even just their limbs pressing together is going to send him straight to the ER, that's how tingly and floaty and _gone_ he feels.

Takahiro squirms into his hands as he shifts a knee to press his thigh against Issei's crotch, unmistakably hard.

He looks up and flashes a grin at him that Issei can probably barely even see through the inky darkness.

'Aw, someone's turned on,' he teases.

Then big hands are kneading roughly at his ass and he _moans_ , loud and wanton.

Issei chuckles, head dipping down and mouth pressed to the shell of his ear as he shifts his own knee to press his thigh firmly between Takahiro's legs.

'I win,' he whispers hotly, grin audible in his raspy voice.

'No,' Takahiro says. He grinds forward and back, helpless and wondering which feeling to press into as he grinds his thigh up against Issei's crotch and rubbing and Issei's breath hitches and he whimpers, right against his ear.

' _I_ win,' he says.

'Baby,' Issei says, broken and needy, and Takahiro almost whines at that word. His mouth finds Takahiro's in the dark and swallows up his moans, moving against his lips slowly now, as if savouring it. 

Takahiro tugs his hair as he pulls him in deeper, closer, hitches his leg up to wrap around his hip and Issei's hand slides down, massaging jean clad flesh as his teeth nip at Takahiro's lower lip.

Issei's hand rises higher and lands almost, almost on his crotch and _right then_ the sound of a key twisting into the doorknob splits them apart.

Issei groans loud and heavy against his neck and Takahiro says instinctively, 'Felt.'

The door opens as Issei laughs quietly, and light floods in against his face and Takahiro is suddenly hyper aware of Issei's body heat behind him and his spit wet lips and the marks on his neck. 

Oikawa stares at them with his face as expressionless as someone as expressive as him can manage.

Takahiro stares back, shameless.

He feels Issei's hand flying up and he and Oikawa both stand silently as Issei fruitlessly tries to pat his hair down.

'Ok,' Oikawa says unsympathetically after thirty seconds. 'That's probably a lost cause, Matsun.'

'Don't condescend me,' he responds. But he sighs and ruffles his hair. Takahiro holds back his comment about how good it looks messy.

His hand comes down to press gently against Takahiro's lower back and Takahiro steps belatedly out of the closet. 

The party music is suddenly ten times louder and ten times worse but to be honest he can barely hear it through the pleasant buzzing in his ears.

Oikawa regards them, and says, 'So no kissing, huh?'

'Of course,' Takahiro says instantly.

'Absolutely not,' Issei says.

Oikawa rolls his eyes and turns to the living room and they walk back inside, Issei's hand fitting itself against the small of his back.

The group of seniors cheers as they walk towards them and Takahiro holds back a sigh.

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow. 'So how'd your seven minutes go?'

Takahiro waves a hand flippantly. 'Oh, it was so fucking boring I almost fell asleep.'

'It's true,' Issei agrees. 'I didn't even notice he was there, I was just counting the seconds down.'

'So true, so true, so glad that's over,' Takahiro says, tossing himself onto a sofa and plucking away someone's drink. 

'Hey-!'

Issei comes and sits between him and the person who's drink he stole, and throws his arm around Takahiro's shoulders.

Takahiro looks at the disbelieving, amused faces of the circle below them and he hears Himara from tennis mutter, 'Aw, fuck, I don't think any orgasms happened, Yamada,' and Yamada says smugly, 'Three hundred yen, let's fucking go, Maramara.'

Next to him, Issei barely stifles his laugh and Takahiro takes a sip from his drink and smiles blithely at Yuda, who is staring at him broken heartedly. 

'I can't believe they didn't kiss,' he says, distressed. 

Oikawa pets his hair and says sweetly, 'Oh, Yuchan.' 

'It's just so sad.'

'Hm. Well-'

'I _really_ thought they were gonna,' he hiccups. 

'Jesus, how drunk _is_ he,' Issei mutters, and Takahiro snorts. 

'He looks pretty beat, I'll admit,' Takahiro says.

'Scale of one to ten, from Iwa at Oikawa's eighteenth to your uncle at Sakura-nii's wedding.'

Takahiro whistles. 'Oh damn.. that's an epic scale. That's good. Uh, definitely an eight.'

'Nope.' Issei says, popping the p. 'Solid nine.'

'Why nine.'

'Look," he says, gently bumping his head against Takahiro's. 'He's asking _Oikawa_ where his _girlfriend_ is.'

Takahiro laughs out loud, and sinks against Issei's side. 'Holy fuck, you're right. He's not as drunk as the football cap, though, look.'

Issei turns his head, leaning in closer and he sucks his breath in through his teeth. 'Ohhh, that's bad. That is very bad.'

Takahiro winces, looking at the guy judgementally. 'Yeah. Also very really wrong.'

'What is he fucking doing?'

'Is that what I think it is?'

Issei's eyebrows furrow, and his voice is confused as he says, 'Where did his _pants_ go?'

'Dude,' Takahiro shakes his head as he tries not to laugh, pressing into him and Issei readjusts his arm around his shoulders. 'I'm pretty sure those have been gone since we showed up. Remember in the kitchen?'

'Oh, god, yeah,' Issei says. 'Aw, dude, the girl we love from- shit, the uh, the drama club. She was like, holding court-'

Takahiro scans the room and spots something, and laughs harder. 'Holy fuck,' he says, pushing down giggles. 'Issei- she's _outside_.'

'What?' Issei says, sounding bewildered, looking down at him. 'Outside? Like, in the pool, or wh-'

Takahiro points at the window, and Issei looks and he laughs immediately.

The girl from the drama club who has never spoken to them but whom they adore is sitting crosslegged on the diving board and looks like she's shouting down at a group swimming underneath her.

She slips slightly and then leans back, fixing her position and going right back to shouting. Issei laughs harder and Takahiro buries his face in his side, face red from how hard he's laughing.

'Hiro,' Issei manages, 'Holy shit, baby, look-'

Takahiro looks up right as she unbalances and falls off the board and the sound of her shouting obscenities before she crashes into the water sets them both off and Issei tips his head back, laughing hysterically.

'Holy fuck-' Takahiro wheezes.

'What- oh my God, what is- dude…' Issei chokes out after a minute, wiping a tear. 'That was-'

'I really hope someone filmed it,' Takahiro says, catching his breath, cheeks aching. 'Holy fucking shit.'

'Hiro, fuck, d-did you see the way she was like- fuckin' waggling her arms around-' Issei starts, breathless, and Takahiro starts laughing again.

When he looks up, blinking away tears, Issei is looking down at him, lips pressed together and eyes bright, fond.

Takahiro beams at him, he can't help it. 

Issei swallows, and Takahiro watches the bob of his throat, and looks back up to see his eyes darken, heat on his face.

Issei leans in slightly, and Takahiro parts his lips, heartbeat pounding.

'Are you guys sure you didn't make out in there?' Oikawa says loudly, and Issei's eyes shut, his face the picture of defeat.

Takahiro's mind is so full of rage. 

'Payback,' Oikawa says smugly.

'For what?' Issei groans. 'What did we ever do to you?'

Oikawa knits his brows. 'I don't remember but it was _real_ annoying.'

'Oikawa,' Takahiro grits out. 'You are at the _bottom_ of my bee eff eff list.'

Oikawa rolls his eyes. 'You're just saying that because I just ruined your and Matsun's m-'

'Oh-kay,' Iwaizumi interrupts. 'Let's go, Tooru, we're done.'

'Are we really, though,' Oikawa says, eyes narrowed, contemplatory. 'Is anything ever really done..? Is anybody ever _truly_ 'let's go'..?' 

Takahiro and Issei look at him silently for a second.

Then he hiccups.

'Huh. Solid ten,' Issei says, sounding impressed. 'Him, not the hiccup, that's like a four.'

'Oh yeah, that was very average,' Takahiro agrees. 'Him, though.. Jesus.'

'New number ten, even,' Issei muses. 

'Oh, I like that. From Uncle Shou at Sakura-nii's wedding to Oikawa at the senior thing,' Takahiro says, then frowns.

'Senior thing,' Issei repeats. 'Senior bash? Last party? Senior party?'

'End-Of-Year-Huzzah,' Takahiro says seriously, and Issei laughs.

'End of- yeah, alright, jaan. You wanna head out too?'

Takahiro surveys the room, the last few people remaining like the dregs at the bottom of a cup.

'Yeah,' he decides. 'Let's go. Yours or mine?'

'Mine, I brought the car, remember,' Issei reminds him, getting up and offering his hand.

Takahiro grabs it and lets himself be pulled along towards the door as he waves at the few people he knows that are still here.

'Oh yeah,' he says. 'You good to drive?'

'Yeah, definitely,' Issei says distractedly. 'Had like one drink. Where is our best homegirl drama lady? And where did I park?'

'I hope someone stole the car so your dad kicks you out on the streets and you can't pay for school so I don't have you bothering me in class. And you mean my _icon_ ,' Takahiro says dreamily. 'She is so sexy. Arms waggling. Shouting bad words. Absolute hottie.'

'Immensely sexy, 's true,' Issei agrees, stopping in front of his dad's car and fishing for his keys. His hand regretfully drops Takahiro's. 

'And that's a dumb thing to hope, 'cause your mom would adopt me,' Issei adds.

Takahiro scoffs. He opens the passenger side door and gets in, waits for Issei to come inside before he pulls out the car spray and sprays it down his shirt and he shouts.

Takahiro cackles helplessly.

'Bitch!' Issei says, dismayed. 'Now my shirt's gonna smell like lavender fizzle burst!'

Takahiro laughs harder. 'This is _lily_ scented, asshole.'

'It was on the fly, and I think I deserve some credit for not messing up the delivery,' Issei says blankly, staring at his shirt, a wet patch sticking to his skin.

Takahiro doesn't like the smell, so he opens his window, but he likes the way the mix of directed spray and sweat make Issei's long sleeved shirt cling to his chest.

'You get credit for doing it in the moment but that's it,' he says, as Issei starts shakes his head and starts to drive home. 'You're _supposed_ to not mess up, that's expected. No one gets fucking credit for that.'

'I give you credit for not messing up every _day_ ,' Issei says. He looks really good right now, and Takahiro takes a moment to admire him, dark tan cheeks all flushed from the party and the laughing and his hair still mussed, black curls sticking to his forehead cutely and muscles shifting as he drives.

'I never mess up,' Takahiro says, a beat late. 'I'm the opposite of mess.'

Issei glances over and drags his eyes up and down his form slowly.

Takahiro feels that hot twist in the pit of his stomach again, and flushes slightly, hoping it can't be seen under the streetlights.

He's unfair as he smirks, slow and wide, and looks back at the road. 

'No, you count in as a mess.'

'Do I?'

'Yeah,' he says. 'Just- a _hot_ mess.'

'A hot mess,' Takahiro repeats, biting back his smile. He's going for unimpressed here and missing by a mile because of how flirty Issei's being today.

'Uh huh. Hot,' Issei murmurs, grinning slightly, dark eyes still on the road.

Takahiro immediately starts humming Cobra Starship to distract from his flushed cheeks and also because he knows it's been stuck in Issei's head since he said the word mess.

Issei laughs slightly, shifting his grip on the steering wheel, and his cheeks are dark too but he hums along anyways.

The car ride isn't awkward. They don't talk about the making out and they don't talk about how eager they'd both been, Takahiro thinks this can be brushed off and blamed on being drunk.

But as Takahiro glances over for the nth time and catches Issei watching him too, he wants it. And he knows Issei wants him.

He'll just have to take the plunge, he realizes, holding his gaze. _Because how can he not?_

Issei's eyes widen a fraction, dilating, and he swallows, skin colored by street lamps and shifting as he drives into the night.

He doesn't look away either.

Takahiro's grin is sharp and flawless, he knows. 'Eyes on the road, casanova.'

Issei huffs out, embarrassed as his eyes slide off him and his shoulders hunch slightly.

'You're-' He stops, and shakes his head, grinning.

Takahiro hums. 'Speechless, huh. I do tend to have that effect.'

Issei laughs and the rest of the car ride is mostly quiet, just glances and eye contact and looking away seconds later, and when Takahiro steps into the Matsukawa family home, his and Issei's cheeks are both red as they nudge each other to keep quiet.

They go upstairs, careful not to step on the creaky tiles to not wake up his sleeping family, and Issei twists his room doorknob silently shut with the practice of someone who sneaks out way too often.

They brush their teeth side by side, playing the eye contact game in the mirror, too.

Issei pulls Takahiro under the sheets and Takahiro slaps a hand over his mouth so he doesn't make some annoying comment about getting him in bed. 

They have a small wrestle, Issei trying to tear his hand off his mouth and Takahiro pulling his hair while hissing insults to keep him down and Issei wins only when he flips them over.

'Fucking bastard-'

'Takahiro.'

His voice is hushed and muffled by his hand.

Takahiro stops struggling, blinking up at him with wide eyes, one hand still in his hair and the other still covering his mouth.

Issei blinks back, eyes dark and face lit up by the orange streetlight outside the window.

His eyes look so tempting, heavy lidded and pupils dilated.

Issei's bracing himself with one forearm, and his free hand comes to Takahiro's, long fingers slowly wrapping around Takahiro's wrist.

He tugs his hand off his mouth and to the side gently, and with his eyes hot and on Takahiro's, he kisses his palm.

Takahiro is stone cold sober as he yanks his hand away and cups his jaw, drags him down to kiss him tenderly.

Issei groans and kisses back hard, fierce, just as wanting.

They get seven minutes before their kisses slow down, just mouths pressed together and sharing breathing air. 

It's the most intimate Takahiro has ever been with anyone.

'I'm really glad it's you,' he whispers honestly, eyes still shut.

Issei huffs, and kisses the corner of his mouth. 'I'm glad it's you too, jaan.'

Takahiro finds his hand and brings it up to kiss his palm. 

Issei exhales, and wraps his arms around him and pulls him close and comfortable.

He falls asleep barely a minute after that, Issei's hand carding through his hair, and his mouth kissing his cheek softly goodnight.

**Author's Note:**

> follow my [twitter](https://twitter.com/caandlelit/status/1346572109737119745?s=19)  
> for daily complaints about the unfair lack of matsuhana content


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